Gibbering Mess
by Tomas the Betrayer
Summary: We all know Gibbs is vitally important. But at what point did 'admiration' turn into blind worship?


The Junior federal courier peered over his shoulder while he clipped on the badge they had just been given. "I thought the Navy's motto was ' _Semper Fortis_ '?"

"It is." Behind the wheel, the Senior federal courier maneuvered their car into an open parking space. He snatched up a packet of documents from the backseat and got out. Junior followed, peering around the grounds of the Naval Yard wearing a slight frown.

"So why did the gate guard say ' _Semper Fi'_? Isn't that for Marines, sir?"

There was a faint hint of distaste on Senior's face as he headed towards the Naval Criminal Investigative Services building. "You probably should have been briefed on this before," he said as his partner caught up. "NCIS has its own way of doing things lately. It's what makes coming here such a headache."

"What do you mean?"

Senior sighed and came to a halt right outside the entrance. "Okay, look. Be prepared for some serious weirdness when you get in there. Virtually everything that goes on in this building, and I mean _everything,_ revolves around one man, and it's not the Director." He held the door open and indicated for Junior to enter, who did so with a troubled frown.

"I'm afraid I don't follow… you…" The Junior officer slowed to a halt as soon as he stepped inside. "Ummm… sir?"

"Yeah?"

Senior marched by him with nary a glance for what had drawn him up short. For his part, Junior pointed up at the portrait of the sitting U.S. President prominently displayed in every federal building. "That's not the POTUS."

Senior didn't break stride. "No, it isn't."

His comrade jogged to catch up. "So who is it?"

The older man pushed the elevator button, taking a deep breath as he did and rubbing his eyes. "Kid, before we go any further, let me give you a word of advice: don't spend any more time in this nuthouse than you have to."

They rode the elevator up in silence. It only lasted a few seconds, but something about that warning left the Junior courier feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

This impression only worsened as they stepped out into the central command of NCIS. His senior marched on towards the office of the Director without sparing a glance around at any of the people present, however Junior couldn't help but stare at the strikingly beautiful woman with curly black hair tied up in a ponytail who sat sharpening a knife at her desk, black eyes locked on the razor-keen edge with unblinking focus. Across from her, a big fellow with an easy smile and the face of a Hollywood actor lounged on the edge of his desk talking seductively into his phone. The guy seated two spots down from him more closely resembled a hardware store employee, staring with rapt attention at his screen as he typed diligently away.

None of them looked at him. This was nothing out of the ordinary. But for some reason, he was left with the strong impression that even if he were to stand right in front of them shouting at the top of his voice, it wouldn't have gotten their attention. They all seemed absorbed, lost in their own little worlds. Like he wasn't important enough to notice. This left the Junior courier feeling slightly annoyed.

That, and he had finally noticed the wall normally reserved for pictures of America's Most Wanted Criminals held only multiple copies of the same grim, unsmiling man's picture as before, over which read the words, 'Employee of the Eternity'.

Having noticed he was lagging behind, Senior came back to stand beside his partner's elbow. "Yeah," he chuckled sourly while the younger man stared at this bizarre sight. "Really something, isn't it? You would not _believe_ the cult of worship they have around this guy. It's like straight out of former Soviet bloc states."

Junior rounded on him. "What are you _talking_ about?"

His superior glanced around briefly. "Here. Lemme show you." He then pitched his voice a little higher. "Can you believe that barista _MESSED UP GIBBS' ORDER?"_

"Gibbs? Who's…?"

Before he could finish, the dark-haired lady slid her knife into its sheathe, stood up and swept past them without a word. Junior watched her leave, puzzled. "Where's she going?"

"To stab one of the baristas down at the coffee shop."

"WHAT?!" Junior spluttered. He looked at his partner as though trying to ascertain if this was a bad joke of some sorts. When it was clear by his expression that was not the case, he added, "But… wait a second! How does she even know which barista to knife? You just made that up!"

"Doesn't matter." Senior shrugged. "She'll pick whichever one she feels _looks_ most likely to have gotten Gibbs' order wrong. As a warning to all the rest."

"Hang on, who is this 'Gibbs' supposed to be?"

"You think that's bad?" The older man then mimed for silence and crept up behind the guy flirting on the phone.

"So listen, babe, after work how about you and I pop open a tub of popcorn and…"

Senior slapped the agent hard as he could in the back of the head.

"THANK YOU, SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER!"

The phone dropped to the floor, the person holding it having gone rigid. He stood at attention like an army cadet on parade inspection while bellowing in a stentorian voice. "A classic line from the uproarious 1978 satire 'National Lampoon's Animal House'! Directed by John Landis! Written by Harold Ramis and starring Kevin Bacon, John Belushi, and…"

He then stopped, appearing to recover himself. Upon turning to regard them, the agent's face contracted in an angry frown. "Hey, who the hell are–"

Before he could finish, the courier slapped his head again.

"THANK YOU, SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER! A classic line from the uproarious 1978 satire 'National Lampoon's Animal House'! Directed by John Landis! Written by…"

This time he didn't stop and just kept on going. As creeped out by this display as Junior might be, he was even more appalled to note that absolutely nobody else in the office seemed to think it worth remarking on. They all just went about their business with the mindless determination of worker ants. It was deeply disturbing.

"One more, so you know it's not a fluke." Having said this, the older man walked over to the guy typing diligently away. This time he didn't really do anything, merely stood there with arms crossed over his chest shaking his head sadly.

After a few seconds the computer geek finally appeared to notice him. His fingers paused over the keyboard, a hesitant expression slowly dawning. "Uhhh… hello?" he asked.

Senior said nothing. He just kept gazing at the guy in a way that dripped with almost parental condescension.

The geek glanced around, clearly befuddled. "Can I… help you with something?"

At this, Senior leaned forward and stated, "Gibbs will _not_ be pleased."

The effect was immediate. All color drained from the man's face, and he began breathing very fast, eyes wide and body shaking. "Not pleased about what?!" he demanded. "Not pleased about WHAT?!" In a flash he began ransacking the folders and papers on his desk, tearing through them in a frenzy as he searched for something that wasn't there. "What'd I do wrong? What'd I do, I don't know, I don't _know!_ Gibbs knows! Gibbs knows, he always knows. Gibbs always knows, and he will not be pleased! He will NOT be _PLEASED!"_

That last word came out in a shriek. The poor fellow was in tears by this point. Senior left him there, indicating for Junior to follow. He did, too amazed and frankly appalled to ask any questions. They headed up a flight of stairs to reach the Director's office. After heading inside and passing a receptionist who abased herself almost reflexively, the pair found themselves in the heart of NCIS, the office of the Director.

Senior strode forward and laid the interdepartmental communication he was carrying on the desk, Junior hovering at his back. The man seated across from them was whip-thin and steely-eyed. He held a toothpick clenched between his teeth as he sized them up with cold efficiency. This figure wore his command like a tailor-made suit. Without so much as a change in expression he said, "I trust you had an easy time getting here."

"No worse than usual," Senior shrugged.

The Director picked up the envelope and unsealed it. He examined the contents briefly without pulling them out, then opened a drawer and slid it in. His eyes snapped over to the younger man's face quick as a flash, causing him to jump. "This one new?"

"Yeah. Showing him the ropes."

Intimidated just from standing in this imposing man's presence, Junior found himself sketching a hasty salute. "Sir, may I just say it's an honor to be working with–"

" _G-I-I-I-I-I-IIBS!"_

"HOLY HELL!" Junior yelped and spun around. Behind him the wall of the office had rotated around like something in a funhouse, revealing twelve ladies in colorful robes clapping and singing joyously, exclaiming to heaven with all their might the wonders of…

"GIBBS!" the Director proclaimed as he vaulted over his desk, snatching up a microphone one of the singers tossed to him. "Yes, he is everywhere! Everywhere, I tell you! Praise be to his NAME!"

"PRA-A-A-A-AISE!" the choir dutifully chanted without missing a beat. "PRAISE TO GIBBS!"

"What in the name of John Quincy Adams…?" Junior breathed, horrorstruck.

Beside him Senior had bowed his head in steadfast refusal to look at what was taking place. "He's obligated, under absolutely _no federal law at all_ , to sing the praises of Gibbs whenever the words 'honor', 'valor', 'patriot', 'hero', or any derivation of the same are spoken in his presence."

Junior could only stare as that once mighty figure paced the carpet back and forth before them, flinging up his hand for emphasis as he thundered into the microphone. "Remember the Rules, my friends! REMEMBER THE RULES, for he is always watching! ALWAYS watching, yes he is! He appears, standing at your back, watching, seeing, ALL THERE IS TO KNOW! SEMPER FI, my brothers and sisters!"

"SEMPER…" The whole choir drew in a deep breath and sang, "FI-I-I-I-I-I-I-I!"

"Who's the mute matchless Marine that's a sex magnet to all the ladies?!"

"GIBBS!"

"Damn straight!" The Director stamped and swung about with tireless vigor. "He is so important! SO IMPORTANT, I TELL YOU, that every criminal mastermind is obsessed with him! They're all obsessed with him! WE'RE obsessed with him! OBSESSED! Every U.S. military officer, no matter their rank, humbles themselves before his wisdom! Every man, woman and child on EARTH pays homage to him! Everything we do, we do for him! Every collar we make, every bad guy put away, every decision no matter how small! From the instant we awake with a crisp salute to the moment we fall down from exhaustion after working without rest to please him, that is all done for the GLORY OF GIBBS!"

There was no sign this performance would end anytime soon, so the two federal couriers let themselves out. Junior stumbled bewildered behind his partner, at a loss to explain anything that had just taken place. As they headed towards the elevator, he noticed the scary lady had resumed a seat at her desk, only now she had what could only be a severed human finger stuck on the tip of her knife that she was admiring.

"THANK YOU, SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER!" _SLAP!_ "THANK YOU, SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER!" _SLAP!_

The movie aficionado was striking himself in the back of the head after every utterance, like a record player forced to keep skipping over the same point. As for the computer geek, he had curled up in a ball on the floor rocking back and forth muttering, "Gibbs will not be pleased! Gibbs will not be pleased!" over and over again.

As they walked by this abhorrent display of eager willingness to please, a man holding a cup of coffee turned the corner in front of them and stood to bar their way.

It was a rather jarring sight, considering that his humorless face was the same one magnified a dozen-fold on the wall behind him. The Junior courier felt panic at the realization of who this person was.

Two watery eyes narrowed in tacit judgement upon catching sight of them. The real head of the NCIS spoke not a word, only… stared. Like his gaze was all that was needed to transmit his sternly disapproving thoughts into their heads. Junior felt himself fast falling under the spell that hung over this whole haunted house of horrors so that he was ready to fling himself down and beg forgiveness for whatever had caused that mighty tyrant to be displeased with him!

Without breaking stride, Senior walked right on by the man like he wasn't even there. Blinking in shock, Junior followed his lead.

The man spun about. "Hey!"

"Keep walking," Senior advised, so he did.

"HEY!"

An even greater bellow, but in response Senior threw over his shoulder, "Straw is cheaper and grass is free!"

That bit of classic humor allowed Junior to keep from falling under his sway again. By this point they had made it to the still-open elevator and gotten inside. Junior felt his bowels clench as the super-man came striding around the corner and slammed to a halt in front of the elevator, glaring at them intently and still refusing to say anything else while the cup of coffee steamed in his hand.

Sadly, whatever effect this performance was meant to have on people, it did nothing to stop the elevator doors from closing in his craggy face.

Junior grabbed a banister and sagged back trembling against the wall. "Sweet baby Jesus!" he breathed. "It's like a damn _cult!"_

"And about as useful," Senior replied in a casual vein. He reached over to pat the younger man's shoulder. "Don't get too worked up over it. If you ever get cornered by one of those creeps, just ask them what Rule 49 is."

He looked up, pale but puzzled. "49?"

"Yeah." His mentor grinned. "The 'Rules' only go up to about 40. They'll drop into full-blown catatonic shock at the thought they might have missed any."

Junior straightened up with a frown. "Okay, but… why doesn't anybody step in and put a stop to this?"

"Why bother?" And here the Senior courier smiled. "There's a reason nobody's ever heard of NCIS outside of D.C. Just count yourself lucky you don't have to deal with the Louisiana branch. _Their_ version has a _drawl."_

The Junior courier promptly prayed he would never face anything so terrifying.

 _ **FIN.**_


End file.
